untitled series.

Dann hieß es doch
man sucht immer nur ein Gesicht
in einem Meer aus Menschen
wenn ich das aber finde
so ist das Gesicht bedeutungslos
wie ein Parfum ohne Träger
denn in meinem Kopf
haben sich die Grenzen
vermischt
doch zwischen mir und mir
verläuft noch der Trennzaun
der Wunden zurückläßt
jedesmal
wenn ich ihn öffne.

untitled.

everything will end
an ocean gone
all the things we had
are left behind

step towards my dear
we will start again

everything will begin
an ocean rise
all the movements feel
we grow in love

step forward my dear
we will start again

let's jump before we get pushed.

i feel like a character in a play. like walking on stage for the first time.and i am.
the trouble with it all is that whether we like it or not we can‘t stay the same. it‘s not allowed. there is just no procedure for freezing our present happiness, no insurance scheme against future grief or coldness and misunderstanding. we can‘t mark time ad infinitum.

do all things with love.

lately i was so busy with work,my final thesis and everything that i hardly had time for myself.but its getting better now that december has arrived and im not that busy anymore and thus can focus again on my creative need. my need to express myself every once in a while.
i had the first night i could really concentrate all on myself and had time to waste. it felt so good.just so good. however, ive met the coolest people and am so glad to have friends that are so trustworthy and real. anyway; i wrote this stuff that i want to share.

do all things with love.

we are all fools when it comes to love
we make mistakes we swore we would never make
act like kids, trembling,impulsive and passionate,
stupidly saying things because they sound pretty

we thought we could make it work,
like the characters in the books
we read when we were just small children,
when there is love outside the library of our brain

and then again;
the people that died when i was a child
they are complete characters,
finished and unchangeable,
they had no time to change the way i did,
so at best we can turn us
into fictional characters in our head
is that why we take pictures?

so durable happiness is not affection
and you are not the cure
when you are the trouble.

I still have ridiculously large dreams,
the excitement of possibilities,
i will meet them in the fields somewhere
and when i get lost,
will i find my way
shift and change
do all things with love.

untitled

 1.
and i said ; "youre still not the type to be googled." youre part of this generation that can still hide somewhere in the unknown spheres of rural backhole.some sphere more real.nothing so vague and foggish. youre so very proud of that. i was laughing, i remembered the pictures i took of you and that actually were online.
but if i want to look at you, i can only meet you or get swapped away in my head. the small set of gestures and your smile comes up again.smiling foolishly. i remember some summer morning i woke up next to you, already awake and smiling.you had your arm around me. there was music in the back.soft and calm. it played the notwist with „good lies“. listening to it i started feeling so bad. i felt as if i was cheating you and especially cheating on you. my head back then was pure betrayal. i was playing your mistress when i should have played girlfriend.at best; no acting at all.

„its as if im standing in a lightened room during night, everything being dark and im completely visible but everything else, everything outside of this room, is a mystery to me. you can see me but i cant see you“ you said. then.no more quiet,fast breathing under the blanket of love.

then i found you in a magazine. through all those letters your picture appeared. sometimes i even just forgot about you. seeing you again. „why is this important to you?“ you asked, and i dont know if it was just naked vanity or the feeling of being held back. in fact,i cant even tell you if it really ever mattered to me. ive been searching and hiding and you simply seem like the place to be.


 2.


the waiting was interminable. i do not know how much time passed on the clock, that nameless and universal time of clocks that is alien to our emotions, to our destinies, to the inception and ruin of love, to a death vigil. but my own time was a vast and complex temporal space filled with figures and turnings back, at times dark and tumultous river at times a strange calm like a motionless, eternal sea where facing each other with ecstatic happiness; then again it was a river pulling us back as if in a dream to our childhoods, and i saw myself in my small town in the south, in my sickroom, with my face pressed to the windowglass, watching the snow, my eyes, too hallucinated. and it was as if the two of us had been living in parallel passageways.
later when i realized that this has become indispensable,that i was like someone dying of hunger, who will unconditionally accept anything offered, but later once the greatest urgency has been satisified, gradually begins to complain of problems and inconveniences. vanity, pride and arrogance that seemed to have been permanently obliterated begin to creep back, showing themselves with greater insolence, as if in reaction to shame of having fallen so low.